Of Fear and Love
by macawtopia
Summary: "Sansa could never have imagined that it would be this easy to affect him. After all, he was Petyr Baleish: owner of whorehouses, manipulator extraordinaire, and up until now she had believed that he was completely in control of what little emotion he possessed" - Sansa and Petyr have dinner, and discuss the best methods of attaining and maintaining power over people


Spoiler alert: Takes place at the Eyrie, right after Littlefinger is found innocent of killing Lysa.

I own nothing but this scene!

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Sansa could never have imagined that it would be this easy to affect him. After all, he was _Petyr Baleish_: owner of whorehouses, manipulator extraordinaire, and up until now she had believed that he was completely in control of what little emotion he possessed. Yes, he said that he loved Sansa's mother, but that hadn't stopped him from lying to Catelyn, or betraying Sansa's father. Sansa often wondered whether or not he shed a single tear when he learned of Catelyn's death. Deep down, she hoped that he had. Either way, Sansa was fairly certain that Littlefinger was the best player in Westeros – no exceptions – but that didn't stop _her_ from being able to play him like a fiddle.

Still, she had been afraid of him from the start, so when she made her first move, it was with no small amount of trepidation. Sansa had been sitting beside him at dinner, alone, and ironically enough it was fear that he was teaching her about.

"The Lannisters," he was saying, voice soft and piercing eyes fixed unyieldingly on hers, "maintain their power using their endless supply of gold, and _fear_."

"A Lannister always repays his debts" Sansa murmured, earning her a curt nod from Littlefinger, "Exactly. For this reason, there isn't a person in the world, besides other Lannisters, who likes or trusts them."

"No one likes or trusts you either" Sansa replied, trying to make him flinch, but Petyr smiled wolfishly at her, "That's true. But they do not _fear_ me. Not really. So, they do not set their guard as high..."

"And that's what kills them." Sansa finished, thinking of Lysa, Joeffrey, her father… how many people had made the fatal mistake of underestimating Littlefinger?

But Petyr's smile faded at her words, "No, Sansa. That's what allows me to make them do what I _want_ them to."

There it was! Sansa had touched a nerve. Apparently, Littlefinger didn't want her to think of him as a murderer – and she could think of only one reason why that would be. A tiny chink in his armour for her to break through? More importantly, did she dare try to use the master's own tricks on him? A tiny voice in her head told her that she had to at least try.

So, she leaned in to him, gently placing a hand on his arm, bringing her lips close to his ear, and softly whispering, "And how do you plan on making _me_ do what you want me to, Petyr?"

To Sansa's astonishment, he visibly shivered at her words. She did have an effect on him, and the though sent a matching chill down her own spine, and a strange… _warmth_ as well. It was not happiness. She was well past the point where she was capable of happiness. But this feeling was a good one, for she knew that it wasn't just _anyone_ who could elicit a response from Petyr Baelish or – if only for a moment – stay his tongue.

Slowly, Petry turned to face her, his face a mask now, "Now, sweetling," he spoke, voice as guarded as his expression, "Do you honestly think that I would I tell you that?"

Sansa arched an eyebrow, as she had seen him do on so many occasions, "I think so, yes."

Petyr's mouth twitched with a look of amusement, one that reached his cold eyes, "And how did you arrive at that conclusion, little wolf?"

Wolf. Stark. It was a jab at her intelligence aimed to kick her down a notch, and his way or reminding her that he didn't really trust her any more than she trusted him. Talking to Littlefinger sometimes felt more like a battle than a pastime, yet of all of her pastimes, she liked it the best.

"I am not a wolf anymore," Sansa replied slowly, "Wolves are no use to anyone when they are separated from their pack."

"Then what would you say that you – "

"I'm a bird." Sansa said, cutting him off. Then, placing a hand on his face, she came still closer to him and lightly pressed her lips to his. He tensed up, just as she had anticipated he would, so she let her fingers slide from his cheek to his hair, and put her other arm around his neck. She found herself enjoying the taste of mint, and deepened the kiss until he surrendered and kissed her back, his arms ensnaring her waist.

Sansa ended it then, because she was still in control but wouldn't be if he continued moving his lips that way, and stroking her hair.

Still in his arms, so close that she could feel his pounding heart, Sansa fingered Petyr's mockingbird pin. She looked up into his uncharacteristically open face and whispered, "We should flock together, shouldn't we?"

Petyr didn't reply, but the look in his green eyes could only be described as wistful. Naked emotion suited him, Sansa thought, and was surprised by how strongly she wanted to kiss him again. He brought a hand to her face and cupped her cheek."Sansa" he whispered slowly, as though tasting the name. His eyes were on her again, and she felt her heart rate increase and hoped the lighting was dark enough that her cheeks would not betray her.

He didn't move a muscle, it was only the softness in his eyes that hardened into a glint before he abruptly retracted and stood to leave. She watched his retreating figure, and then sat back in her chair, breathless. The room was so much bigger now that he was gone.

Yes, she could affect him, but the feeling was mutual.

Murderer, Sansa reminded herself, to steel her resolve.

Liar.

Manipulator.

Ruthless.

Clever.

Mockingbird.

_Mint_…

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Ok, full disclosure here: I haven't read the books, so if this is inaccurate/AU or something, I apologize.

I do, however, _love_ the show, and hope that you liked the story =) I have a few ideas on how to continue it, and may add more if enough people seem to enjoy it!


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